


Pillow Thoughts (Book I)

by weathers



Series: PART 1: If you are dreaming of someone [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Boys Kissing, Drabble Collection, Emotions, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluffy Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pining, Pining Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Series, Spoilers for Book 2: Wayward Son, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weathers/pseuds/weathers
Summary: One-shots inspired by the Pillow Thoughts poem novel by Courtney PeppernellMostly focused around Simon & Baz (a lot of Baz because he's dramatic and a tragic mess, these poems scream Baz naturally).Includes fluff, pining, angst and everything in between.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: PART 1: If you are dreaming of someone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721458
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. BAZ : 2

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that some of these poems have been edited with brackets (“[ . . . ]”) to fit the drabble more. In addition, the numbers in the chapter title is the page number you can find the poem on in the original Pillow Thoughts book. 
> 
> There will be chapters in this series that will be dedicated to events surrounding Wayward Son!
> 
> I will be doing book II and III as well. As of now, I am not doing every single poem, but if any of you have an additional request, don't hesitate to leave a comment for a suggestion!

**BAZ**

_“You deserve flowers on your doorstep_   
_and coffee in the morning._   
_You deserve notes left on your [desk]_   
_and [sour cherry scones] at 3 a.m._   
_You deserve honesty every day_   
_and to be kissed every hour._   
_You deserve to be reminded_   
_how beautiful you are._   
_And if you let me,_   
_I'll show you every day._   
_I promise.”_

* * *

You're the bloody Chosen One. You have admirers left and right. You have girls fawning over you wherever you set foot. Hell, you even have boys vying for your attention almost every other hour. They all think they have a pretty good idea who you are, don't they? 

Well, they're all wrong, aren't they? They're all so terribly, horribly, disgustingly wrong. 

I suppose Bunce can claim that she has you all figured out. However, I know you too. I've seen you at your best, your worst, and everything in between.

I know you think I'm plotting your demise- and that's true half the time, but mostly I'm just observing you. 

I see you for who you are Simon Snow, and you're beautiful, I wish you saw that... 

The orchids, roses, tulips, and sunflowers (all arranged by yours truly with painstaking effort and attention to detail) that are left at your doorstep every Valentine's Day (and on some days when you look particularly miserable) aren't from one of your stalkers, and they're certainly not from Wellbelove.

I know it's snobbish and comical at worst, but I do have a keen interest in poetry. Our house is full of it (you should come over some time, we could read them all together). And as much as I enjoy reading it, I enjoy writing it. It's shit, I see the expression on your face when you read them, but I see your secret smiles when you tuck them in your drawer for safekeeping. That feeling brings me enough joy to outweigh the possible mortification if you were to ever discover who the author was. 

I don't know how to bake. I mean, I do, but I don't know how to make sour cherry scones. Sure, I could magick them into existence, but magick food doesn't taste the same. But I'd learn, I'd learn for you, Simon Snow. 

Morgana, you annoy me every day. I can't stand to be around you, it puts my fangs on edge. Your own stupidity is the cause of the thing that annoys me the most; you surround yourself with such dishonest people. Agatha does not love you. Why don't you see that? Don't even get me started with the Mage, he's not your father, why do you trust him so much? They will hurt you in the end of it all. 

I wish you saw that.

You are the sun. You deserve- no, you're _entitled_ to all the stars in your galaxy. All the planets orbit you. You bring life to the solar system. Without you, everything would cease to exist. We are nothing compared to you. 

I wish you saw that. 

I know you don't know what you're doing half the time (more like all the time. How many times has Bunce saved your sorry ass?), but it always works out in the end, you live. And you're thriving. I suppose that's all I can ask. You should have more confidence in yourself. You don't need to kiss the Mage's ass, you don't need to force yourself with Agatha, you don't need to believe that Bunce's word is law over your own, you don't need to wear a shirt when you sleep (I know you prefer not to), you don't need to smile all the time, you don't need to be perfect. 

You're already perfect. 

I wish you saw that. 


	2. BAZ : 4

**BAZ**

_“I thought about kissing you today_   
_and yesterday_   
_and the day before that._   
_I know I'll think about kissing you_   
_tomorrow_   
_and the day after that_   
_and some more days after those days._   
_I think about kissing you_   
_slowly_   
_and tracing my fingers along_   
_your lips._   
_I think about kissing you in_   
_[class], in the rain, on [our] doorstep._   
_I think about kissing your_   
_dimple, your cheek, your [mole]._   
_I think about kissing only you_   
_not anyone else_   
_just you.”_

* * *

Oh, be still my beating heart.

I look out the window with a (masterfully practiced) blasé expression on my face, my head resting idly on my hand, shielding the blush that's building in my cheeks.

I swear, Simon Snow is taking the piss at me. 

We're sitting right next to each other. He's scowling, trying to ignore me by burying his sun-kissed nose in a textbook. It's pathetic. 

I want to kiss him.

Every once in a while, he snaps his head towards me, as if he's trying to catch me feasting on a puppy in the middle of class (I know he suspects that I'm a vampire, took him long enough). It makes his bronze curls bob in front of his sky blue eyes. He's such an idiot.

I wanted to kiss him in astronomy yesterday, too. 

He sputters. Earlier, he vocalized his distaste with having to sit next to me. His blood orange lips were raw; he nips at them sometimes. When he's cursing, his neck flexes and I can see a prominent mole peeking from the under the untamed collar of his wrinkled dress shirt. 

I have no doubt he is going to perform the same act tomorrow, and I'm still going to want to kiss him. 

It makes me hate myself more than I thought possible, but I just want to touch him (in so many ways). I was to run my fingers over those bloody lips, bite that mole on his collarbone. I imagine sneaking in quick pecks during class lectures. We'd both smile, and his blushed lips will stretch and show off his smashing white teeth. I fantasize about stealing kisses when the rain pelts down and everyone will run to find cover and we'll just laugh and revel in the solitude. I dream about a day where we will be comfortable in sharing the dorm and finally realize that it's _ours_. No more avoiding, no more hiding or snarling (okay, maybe a little bit of that still). Just Simon, me, and our kisses. 

I know it seems like I'm trying to steal Agatha from him, and that's true. But it's because she doesn't belong with him. I'm doing this for his own good. I don't love her, and I will never love her. (Besides, you're cute when you're mad.)

I've never kissed anyone in my life. 

I have no intention of kissing anyone other than you, because it's always been you, Simon Snow.


	3. BAZ: 4

**BAZ**

_“I have been a little off balance since the day I met you. This_   
_is because I had never known what it is like to be perfectly_   
_aligned.”_

* * *

We were all eleven. Fiddling with our new uniforms, too scared to talk, silently judging everyone, waiting in eager anticipation for the Crucible to begin our journey. 

I'd never admit it, but I was in can acute state of suffering from the collywobbles. 

Nevertheless, when the Crucible announced my name, I pressed my shoulders back and sauntered up to the center (my hands balled into shaking fists in my pockets). 

“Simon Snow.”

Children and professors alike turned heads and a cloud of whispers scattered through the crowd. 

_He's the Chosen One, isn't he?_

My shoulders tense, my gaze guarded. I don't know what to expect.

The crowd parts like the red sea for a boy no taller than me with freckled tan skin, a wild mess of bronze hair, and the prettiest eyes I've ever seen.

As he approaches me, I could already see the storm building behind those blinding eyes. Looking back at it, perhaps I reminded him too much of those rich prats that poked fun of orphans like himself. Too groomed, too proper and stuck-up. Just waiting to spit and laugh and step on whoever they desired. I smelled like danger (not false leading at all, I must say). 

As he stands before me, he sniffs before sticking his hand out. 

“Hullo,” he mutters. “I'm Simon Snow.”

I force one of my hands out of my pockets and clasp his hand. I slap a smirk on my face. 

I swallow and clear my throat, “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

He coughs.

“Call me Baz.”

And just like that, he's disappeared. Back off into the crowd, he's chatting up a girl with even messier hair. 

I too find my footing and walk back. I can't feel my legs. I can't feel much of anything. I have been completely swept off my feet. I feel like I'm flying, like the world has been blown into perspective for me. 

As we enter the White Chapel for the Beginning of the Year Ceremony, I can't help myself. I'm observing the Chosen One like I've been bewitched.

I had already been full of beans upon my arrival to Watford. Home hasn't been the same since my mother's death. In less than a few words, I was more than eager to leave.

I don't think anything could ruin tonight... 

The night turns sour. 

He's so selfish and horribly annoying. The wanker simply relishes the attention. A daft git is what he is. Why, he doesn't even know how to tie his shoes! Much less spell them tied. He has no grip on magick at all. And yet everyone can't help but love him. How ridiculous. He's the Chosen One? Truly?

We are all doomed. 

He's an idiot. (An adorable idiot.)

I can't believe he's my roommate. (He's irresistible.)

I hate him already. (I think I'm in love.)


End file.
